The Return
by Elizabeth Anamon
Summary: Nick new in that terrifying moment that he hated lawyers, and himself for being so stupid. ANGST! Inspiration is by nicky69. Brief mention to CatNip.


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Title The Return**

**Rating**** M, for violence, language, and situation.**

**Summery**** Nick knew in that terrifying moment that he hated lawyers, and himself for being so stupid. Inspiration is from nicky69. ANGST! Brief mention to CatNip.**

**Comments**** I really have nothing to say that would not give away the plot, only that it's been a long time since someone brought up this issue, and I don't think it's ever been done quite this way before. Leave it to me to dig up old sceletons. I just love doing it, what can I say? Just when you think it's over...BAM... Anyway, this isn't exactly my typical fic, so be sure and review and tell me if I did a good job with the angst. If you don't like angst, then kindly remove your cyber-self from my fic because there is not a single non-angst moment in this entire story.

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Nick startled awake to the eerie sound of creaking floorboards coming from the hall outside his bedroom.

_It's him._

In mere seconds he flung off the covers, swung himself around to the side of the bed, grabbed his loaded 9mm from the nightstand drawer and aimed it, ready to fire, at the bedroom door. Behind it, the footsteps grew nearer and frighteningly nearer. Nick attempted to talk himself out of his elevating fear by telling himself that he was dreaming, or that Catherine had come to surprise him by getting in bed with him again. But despite his hopeful thinking, his wishing away the recurring horror, he knew all to well what it really was.

All to well _who_ it really was.

Grissom had told him a week ago that the monster was out on parole. Nick had assured everyone that there was nothing to worry about, that he would not be stupid enough to come back.

Famous last words.

As Nick sat on the edge of his bed, gun in hand, he mentally kicked himself for not having that security system installed. It had been on his to do list literally for years, but he always forgot or never "got around to it." Oh, how that was now biting him in the ass.

Suddenly the footsteps stopped. _The calm before the storm._ Nick expected the slow twisting of the doorknob. Yeah, well, he had also expected to be safe in his own home. No such luck. What happened was the unique and familiar thumping sound, then the door splintering apart and tinny slivers flying in every direction.

_He has a gun. _Nick realized. _With a silencer._ Nick knew that people put silencers on guns for one reason and one reason only: to kill.

Without hesitation Nick fired his own gun. "BANG, BANG, BANG!" The reports assaulted his eardrums and he knew that someone would hear the gunshots and call the police. _No_. His neighbors were all at work at 3:30pm; dayshift, not like vampires.

He did not hear a body fall or anyone screaming in pain, so he knew he had missed the intruder. It was then that the doorknob slowly turned and clicked. Nick's unwelcome houseguest pushed the door open and stepped into the room with his gun pointed ant Nick.. through the dim half-light leaking through the blackout curtains, Nick saw a sinister grin trickle across the face of his worst nightmare come to life again.

"So, Nicky," the man crooned, "Do you remember me?"

"Yes," Nick pat, "Yes, Nigel, I remember. You pushed me out of a second story window and tried to kill me in my own home. You murdered an innocent woman in my living room." Nick stood up, the gun still intently pointed at Nigel's head. He said in mock friendliness, "How could I ever forget you?" Nick did indeed remember Nigel Crain. But this was a new man that stood ready to kill him now. This was a more cynical, more sadistic, more violent version of his old stalker. His demeanor, his character, had advanced in evil.

Nigel chuckled. "But you thought you were rid of me?" When Nick did not reply, Nigel's face morphed into a hard, emotionless canvas. Nick could paint a portrait of rage and hatred or one of evil amusement depending on how he responded to what Nigel had to say. "Ever since I went to prison, all I've thought about was the day I would be free again, the day I could come and hunt you down and make you pay for what you did to me. I tried to befriend you, Nicky, but you pushed me away. You drove me to this. I've had a lot of time to think, and the more I do the more I see that I should have taken my opportunity."

"What opportunity?" Nick inquired cautiously.

When yet another maniacal grin crept across Nigel's face, he knew that that was just the question Nigel had wanted him to ask. "Put the gun down, Nicky."

"Like hell I will." Then came the awful thump of the quiet gun. "AHAH! Shit!" Nick dropped his gun and cried out in pain and clutched his wounded hand. "Son of a BITCH!"

"I told you to put the gun down, Nicky."

"Don't call me Nicky," he said through clinched teeth.

"I don't think you're in a position to make demands. Nicky." The added "y" was just to spite Nick.

"Fuck you!"

Nigel made a thoughtful face. "Hum, now that's a definite possibility. Yes, I might enjoy that."

A million thoughts ran through Nick's boggled mind, and none of them were good. One of them was _did he just threaten to rape me? _Nick new he had to stall Nigel until he could think of something to do. If he reached for his gun, Nigel would shoot him. He had to think quickly.

"H-how d-did you g-get parole, a-anyway?" He tried in vain not to stutter.

"Oh, I have a very good lawyer."

Nick new in that terrifying moment that he hated lawyers, and himself for being so stupid. He should have known that Nigel would come back. Well, this was neither the time nor the place to dwell on would-have-beens and shoud-have-beens.

Nigel slowly started moving towards Nick, the evil grin still plastered on his face. As he backed away from the maniac, his legs touched his bed, and he knew he was cornered. The gun that he had dropped now lay and Nigel's feet. Nigel kicked it to the other side of the room. Nick's breathing grew unsteady and heavy.

"Getting exited, Nicky?"

Nick felt sick. "I hate you."

"I hate you more," Nigel replied in the tone of voice you would use in an I-love-you-I-love-you-more debate. "But I think you'll hate me a lot more when I'm through with you." Nigel thrust the gun into Nick's stomach, almost causing him to double over. "Of cores, you won't live to hate me long."

Nick used this opportunity to try to fight back. He grabbed the hand that held the gun and twisted Nigel's wrist. Nigel fired ad un-aimed shot, and the bullet imbedded itself in the wall. Nick held tight to Nigel with his good left hand and, despite his injury, started punching Nigel in the face. Once. Twice. Three times. The forth blow was to the diaphragm, and Nigel doubled over and fell to the ground. He managed to wrench his hand free of Nick's grip and shot Nick in the leg.

Nick screamed in pain and collapsed to the floor. Nigel wrapped an arm around Nick's waist and heaved him up onto the bed. He startled his waist and, knowing that he would not need it for a while, laid it on the floor. As if in slow motion, Nick watched helplessly as Nigel's fist struck his face. Once. Twice. Three times. In the middle of the forth blow, Nick lifted his knee and jabbed Nigel in the back, then, again with his wounded right hand, punched Nigel in the face. No way was he going down without a fight. Nick twisted his entire body, but Nigel's legs were securely hooked around Nick's. He wouldn't budge.

This time Nick jabbed Nigel with both knees. This freed his legs and gave him a split moment to act. Again he twisted his body. Nigel tumbled off of him and Nick followed. They landed an the floor, but this time Nick was on top of Nigel. He had the advantage. He punched Nigel in the face over and over again.

Once the man on bottom was sufficiently dazed, Nick took Nigel's gun from the floor, stood up and moved a safe distance away, and victoriously aimed at the murderer on his floor.

"You're right," Nick told his bleeding adversary. "I do hate you more now that you're finished."

Nick sat down on the edge of his bed and retrieved his cell phone from the nightstand door. He would have called someone before then, but he hadn't had time. He flipped it open and hit the first number on his speed dial.

"Grissom," he heard on the other line.

"I should have listened to you, man, I should have listened. You told me he would come after me and I didn't believe you. I…"

"Wait a minute. Are you saying Nigel Crain came back?"

"Yeah, Nigel's back. I have him under control now, though."

"Nick, you don't sound well, what happened?"

Nick went on to described what had happened, excluding the attempted rape, along with Nigel's minor injuries and his own more extensive ones.

"Okay, Nick, hold tight. I'll be there shortly, along with an ambulance and some quad cars." Nick did not respond. "Nick. Nick!"

"Hu? Oh, sorry, I'm just a little dizzy."

"All right, well just stay conscious."

"Yeah, okay." Nick closed his phone and sat in silence while he waited for Grissom. Nigel didn't move or say a word. Nick did stay conscious, but he didn't even notice the time pass by. Or the ambulance ride. Or Grissom constantly asking him if he as okay. All he could think about was Nigel and what he had said and what had almost happened to him.

_Almost_, key word.

_Stop thinking about him, Nick. It's over. He's going back to prison and he's never coming back to hurt you again. Okay. I'm good. Holy shit, I was almost RAPED! No, can't think about that. It's over. No more Nigel. No more Nigel…but I do need to install that security system. And buy milk…_

And those were Nick's thoughts as his body surrendered to sweet unconsciousness. He was going into surgery to have the bullet removed from his leg.

To have the last of Nigel Crane finally removed from his life.

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**I love diging up old sceletons, what can I say?**


End file.
